


Casanova Fucked Me Over

by truebluemoon



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Dark, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, LGBTQ Themes, More like Enemies to Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Probably OOC depending on your interpretation, Road Trips, Small Towns, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Victoria is Out but not "Out"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truebluemoon/pseuds/truebluemoon
Summary: Victoria and Rachel become friends or maybe something else. She doesn't trust her, or at least that's what she keeps telling herself.(or, AU where, instead of Chloe, Victoria becomes Rachel's partner-in-crime.)





	Casanova Fucked Me Over

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna start off Pre-Canon and then diverge from there. 
> 
> I'm gonna be playing with some fanon interpretations in this fic, including the idea of Rachel being manipulative. This isn't a "Let's bash Rachel" fic, though. This also isn't a "Let's bash Victoria" fic or "Let's bash Chloe" fic. No one in this fic is here to be put down. They're flawed, but that's not all they are.

“It’s all bullshit anyways,” Victoria said, and that’s when the trouble started.

Rachel gave her that conniving look, the one that always brought to mind a calculator being fed some long mathematical expression. Except it wasn’t exactly number-crunching, when social situations are so much more complex than 2^5 or π/2. Victoria could just picture her brain making all those connections. Synapse after synapse, neuron to neuron. In a way, it was difficult to imagine Rachel having thoughts the way mere mortals do.

But Rachel _was_ mortal, she had to remind herself from time to time. Everyone has a weakness, after all.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked. No one else asked.

They were either busy smoking Logan’s stash or trying to get high on something harder.

Victoria gestured her blunt outward, fingers itching. It was a micro-gesture, a sort of lazy shrug without bothering with the shoulders. “All of this. The teachers, the principal, the school, the town.” She took another drag off of the end. It tasted grungy. Real. _I’m a grown-up_ , she thought the first time she smoked. That memory was bile in the back of her throat; younger her was so foolish. “They’ll swallow whatever bullshit you feed them because they want to believe it. The ones on top win whatever they want if they word it right, and everyone else is forced to play along. “Everything should be fair,” they say. Life’s _not_ fair, and it shouldn’t be.”

“So, what? Is this inspiration for some art piece, Victoria? I can just see the headline, “Tortured Artist Victoria Chase Reclaims Birthright with Cynical, New Gallery.” The art world would just love it.” Rachel wasn’t wrong, but her voice was teasing. Silly Victoria and her silly Machiavellian worldview.

“You think they wouldn’t see the irony? Everywhere is like that, especially the art world.” Victoria rolled her eyes. She would know. She had the parents with the famous art gallery, the ones with the classy education and the finely printed business cards. She spent her life in the audiences of fluxus performances, dancing with leering male artists at art society galas, and among the few empty seats at her mom’s lectures to industry experts. “Then again, at least it’s _interesting_. New York, London, Los Angeles, Berlin! They’re all so alive. Arcadia Bay is just…”

“A pit stop on the way to getting what you want?” Rachel finished.

Victoria’s lids lowered in suspicion. Rachel held her gaze, that sly, slightly flirtatious smile still on her face. Rachel just loved reading everyone. She always managed to guess where a line of conversation was heading. It was infuriating. But Rachel wasn’t wrong.

She was never wrong.

“Yeah,” Victoria finally said then looked away, hating that raw feeling she got around Rachel. “Fuck Arcadia Bay.”

“Yeah,” She agreed.

Fuck Rachel Amber.

 

 

Victoria waved her cash in the air. “Are you _seriously_ turning down thirty bucks?”

The bartender grunted, “I got two rules here, kid. I don’t serve alcohol to minors, and no humping Barbara.” He then gestured towards the large nearby statue of a Rubenesque figure, large-breasted and looking at the viewer lustily.

Victoria’s brows creased.

“You’d be shocked how many drunken sods around here have tried to fuck a statue.” He then turned towards the newly used glasses left on the counter. “Now, off with you. Got work to do.” But Victoria didn’t give up easily. Not when he turned down five bucks and not when he turned down thirty.

“Forty,” Victoria countered, slapping down two five dollar bills onto the rest of the cash.

“Still no,” and then he turned on the nearby sink and started rinsing out the glasses.

“Fifty?” Victoria said, then. “Fifty dollars for three drinks?”

“Ha!” He chuckled under his breath. “You’re a plucky little thing, aren’t’cha?”

Victoria’s head raised. “So it’s a deal, then?”

“Nope!” And, with that, she let out a noise of frustration, kicking at the counter, and went back to Taylor and Courtney, who were sitting at a small table towards the back.

“I thought you said you could get us beer,” Courtney said.

Victoria thought so too, but she hadn’t considered that the seedy little bar in Arcadia Bay would care that much about a customer’s age. The place wasn’t exactly busy, especially considering this was the weekend. Maybe Blackwell students trying to get alcohol was a recurring issue over the years.

Or maybe he was just a dick.

“Why do you even want beer? It tastes like piss and desperation.” Victoria crossed her arms over her chest. “This place is a pig sty anyways. Let’s just hit the dorms. Maybe Dana still has some leftover vodka.”

Just as they were about to leave, however, in strolled Rachel Amber. She waved at them from across the room, and Victoria cursed herself for even going to this dreaded bar.

“Vic, I didn’t know you invited Rachel,” Courtney nudged Victoria’s arm.

“That’s because I didn’t,” Victoria muttered under her breath, watching as the girl advanced towards them. Why Rachel just happened to be there at that moment was anyone’s guess.

“Hello, ladies,” She greeted as she passed their table. “What a nice surprise.”

“Hi, Rachel!” Taylor greeted eagerly. Even Courtney seemed to brighten with Rachel’s presence.

Victoria herself plastered on a smile as Rachel grabbed a chair and dragged it to their table. “ _Hey_ ,” She forced some good cheer into her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to try whiskey,” Rachel said, “and this is the only bar in town. We just have wine at home.”

“A _tragedy_ ,” Victoria replied, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t be in luck here either. He won’t serve minors.”

“Guess I’ll have to not be a minor, then,” She said and made her way to the bar counter.

Victoria and Taylor exchanged a glance. Did Rachel really believe she could fool a forty-something-year-old man that she was over twenty-one? The three girls watched Rachel’s conversation with the bartender intently. They were too far away to make out the words they exchanged, but they couldn’t _not_ watch.

It helped that there was nothing else to pay attention to besides the pathetic losers that frequented the place. They all looked gross, like they had been in Arcadia Bay all their lives and had nothing to show for it. The owner could have gotten with the times and installed some flat screens, so people could watch a sports game or two during their fits of self-pity, but, unfortunately for everyone there, he either didn’t have the money or the good sense to install any.

But then it happened.

“Oh my god,” was all Courtney could say.

“No way,” Victoria said.

When Rachel returned, she put the four drinks down on the table. “Enjoy your whiskey.” She gave Victoria a wink.

Victoria frowned. “That was amazing. Did you flash him some fake ID?” It was hard to see everything from where they were sitting, and that explanation made the most sense to her. Rachel was beautiful, so why _wouldn’t_ an adult want to believe she’s drinking age when confronted with real-looking evidence?

“Nah,” Rachel admitted, “Let’s just say we had a mutual friend.”

Rachel was a Matryoshka doll. Take one layer off and there’s still another, slightly different doll underneath. Rachels within Rachels that shifted and gave way to be whatever the situation needed. Like those sliding puzzles except worse somehow. Whatever she really was underneath it all was a mystery for the ages. Not that she cared. Obviously.

Victoria took a glass and knocked back some whiskey. It burned like nail polish remover dripping down her throat, and Rachel laughed, voice melodic and soft. Victoria had a feeling that the Rachel at the center wasn’t as polished as the surface.

Still, it was a very, very pretty surface, nonetheless.

 

 

The first time they were left alone together was during a sleepover in Dana’s dorm.

Dana and Juliet had went off in search of alcohol to serve the guests with. Taylor left for her room to fetch a snack or two. The door swung and closed with a click.

And it was just Rachel and Victoria.

Victoria’s face was starting to hurt from all the false smiles. It was late afternoon and she hadn’t eaten much. She was starting to feel more irritable than usual.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Rachel commented.

“What?” Victoria tapped the carpeting impatiently with her fingers.

“That smile you wear all the time around me. You think it makes you look cheerful, but you just look uncomfortable.” Then, a pause. “Is it the room? Me? Do _I_ make you uncomfortable, Victoria?”

“Why would you?” Victoria asked.

“My winning personality?” Rachel offered with a smirk.

“Isn’t the point of a personality that it doesn’t need to be good to exist?” Victoria countered then, crossing her legs. Like primary school. Criss-cross, apple sauce. Sometimes, she still felt like a kindergartener, just in big kid clothes.

“Touché,” Rachel’s smirk seemed more smug somehow, but Victoria couldn’t put her finger on why that’d be. “What would you call your personality?”

“It exists,” Victoria leaned her back against the side of the bed. She knew it wasn’t a very nice one, but she was satisfied with that. The brooding artiste was allowed to be unlikeable. She was allowed to not be cute or sweet or good for all the boys. She was sick of trying for it, anyways.

“Very descriptive. You could write a novel with that prose,” Rachel retorted.

“I’m not trying to be a novelist,” Victoria replied defensively. “I want-” She sighed in frustration and shook her head. Rachel didn’t deserve to know Vic’s dreams. Not like this.

“No, tell me,” Rachel said. “I want to know.”

Victoria smiled, a true smile, even if it wasn’t from a place of joy. “And why would I want to _tell_ you?”

“I’ll give you a free dare,” Rachel offered. “Anything you want.”

“Anything,” Victoria repeated in disbelief.

“Anything,” She confirmed.

“I thought you were supposed to be crafty, Rachel Amber,” She said. It seemed like Victoria was benefitting far more from the arrangement than Rachel was. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to negotiate?”

“You could dare me to put my art and crafts skills to the test.”

“You’re just further proving my point.” She gave in, though. They were just arguing in circles around each other. “Fine. I dare you to shut the hell up for like an hour.” She flashed her the most arrogant smile in her arsenal. “Do you think you can do that?”

Rachel opened her mouth on impulse. Victoria immediately reached over and planted her hand over Rachel’s lips before any sounds could escape. And Victoria had to laugh a little at the way Rachel’s eyes narrowed, even when she released her hand from her face.

Rachel kept up her end of the bargain, and so Victoria found herself divulging all about her starry-eyed dreams of photography stardom. The ten year plan. The dream job. The photography bucket list. Everything.

It might have just been her imagination, but Rachel’s all-seeing eyes looked deep in thought that night.

 

 

Nathan and Victoria never really talked about Rachel before, until one day she came up.

“So, Rachel’s hot,” and he said it the same way someone would bring up the weather. But that didn’t feel accurate to Victoria, since it implied Rachel being attractive was a state of being. Temporary. It seemed more like a universal constant. There was no state, no next phase or previous one, just it going around and around, on and on. Just the thought of there being no beginning or end to Rachel’s good looks gave her existential dread, but at least it seemed more honest.

Fuck Rachel Amber, to be even more honest.

“Yeah?” Victoria said, and she wouldn’t have if this were Courtney or Taylor or anyone else in this god forsaken school but this was Nathan. She could be real with him. “Good job on that one, Sherlock.”

“ _Vic_ , you’ve been hanging out with her a lot,” He pointed out.

“I hang out with a lot of people,” She countered. “Besides, she’s got a lot of other… acquaintances, including people I hang out with too. I’ll still make time for you, you know. You don’t have to worry about that.”

She’d always make time for Nathan. He wasn’t popular, _yet_ , but their parents were friends, which meant they were friends, which meant they’d known each other for a long, long time. They understood each other like no one else did.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Nathan hinted.

Nathan knew things about her that no one else did.

“What? _Rachel?_ ” She let out a laugh. “You seriously think I-” She shook her head, not even able to finish that thought. “That’s stupid. She probably has a hundred admirers.”

“But none of them are you,” He said. “Besides, there’s no logic to crushes and shit.”

“That’s assuming you’re right,” She insisted, “which you’re not.”

Victoria _hated_ Rachel. Right? Nathan was just screwing with her head because he could.

Then again, if anyone knew her, _really_ knew her, it was Nathan Prescott.

“Whatever you say,” Nathan said, deciding to be an ass about it.

And Victoria replied, “Fuck off, Nathan.”

When they were eight, they promised each other they’d never grow up. They’d be like The Lost Boys from Peter Pan and have adventures forever. No marriage and slammed doors and jobs they hated and making kids cry and hating themselves. And no Rachel Amber’s. From what they saw, adulthood seemed too scary to look forward to. Some things never changed.

Things were so much simpler when they were eight.

 

 

During some really boring science lecture some day, Rachel pulled Victoria out of class. She suckered the teacher with the most paper thin excuses, waving some white slip from the front office and making up some nonsense on the spot about the secretary needing her and Victoria, and he let them go without another word. Victoria couldn’t help but think that, if this were Ms. Grant, they wouldn’t have been let go so easily. Sometimes, Victoria really did admire Rachel, but not then. The teacher was easy prey.

But, whatever, they made an empty classroom their lair for the day.

Victoria and her friends usually chose the bathroom, at least for smoking and putting on makeup. They were lucky that one of the storage closets was unlocked, which held spare keys for all the classrooms in the school, not to mention the dorms. They could have just gone to the dormitory, but, for one, that’d make them skipping class too blatant. Secondly, going to Victoria’s dorm was too obvious, too typical. If they really wanted to be on the edge, why not hang out in a classroom they’re not supposed to be in?

It doesn’t have to be said that they kept the lights off. There was enough natural light from the windows, even if the room was still dim enough to be covered in grey shadow.

“Does anyone even teach in here?” Victoria asked, glancing about the bare room. There were motivational posters and stocked school supplies, bare essentials for any high school classroom, but not much else in the way of décor. No photos or class projects or books on display. She sat in a chair, casually resting her forearm on the attached table. Rachel nonchalantly sat herself on the desk at the front of the room, somehow managing to look far more effortless than Victoria could even dream of achieving.

Did Rachel have to outdo her at everything?

“It was Mr. Torres’s room,” Rachel explained, “but he “left.”” She raised her brows, implying this exit was less than graceful. “There’s been some curriculum changes, in case you haven’t been paying attention.” And why would she? Students usually don’t pay attention to the minutiae of secondary school politics. Curriculum documents are buzzwords upon buzzwords, only decipherable by the people meant to read them. Like the School Board and the donors.

Rachel only knew because she did some clerical work in the office some mornings.  

“I hope so,” Victoria muttered with a small smile, planting the side of her face in her palm. “My parents sent me here because they were assured that there were resources for the arts.”

“Do you even know how much they’re getting rid of to make room for that?” Rachel asked. “Mr. Torres made up the entire Blackwell Astronomy department. A fourth of the Physics department. And there’s more science teachers being pushed out as we speak. This school doesn’t do shit in half-measures.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “What do you care? Didn’t we just _skip_ Bio? Besides, you’ve got the starring role of the play. You should be jumping for joy that we’re getting a bigger arts budget.”

“I can like more than one thing. I have layers,” She pointed out. “And you’re missing my point. On a whim, they can add a whole host of programs. The next whim, they can take all of that away. Do you ever stop and consider why?”

“Their donors, maybe?” Victoria guessed, thinking of her family and family friends like the Prescotts.

“Exactly,” Rachel nodded. “People with money who have their own special interests. Some people with special interests pressure schools to ban controversial books from their libraries or whitewash our country’s history or teach creationism in science classes. You really think these donors are gonna stop at extensive art programs?”

“It’s someone else’s problem, Rachel,” Victoria said. “And we benefit for now, so that’s more than enough for me.”

“So if some student from one of the donor families shows up to school one day with a gun, and they get off scot-free just because of who they are, you’d be okay with that?” Rachel raised a brow.

“ _Duh_ , I’m _from_ one of those “donor families.”” Victoria said, and she internally groaned at the look Rachel gave her. “What? Are you angry that I’m not playing along with your Soapbox Sadie shtick?”

“I’m not angry,” Rachel corrected, her voice then carrying a melancholy quality that made Victoria want to slap her, “Just disappointed.”

Fuck Rachel and the high horse she rode in on.

“You are _not_ pulling this right now, of all times. You agreed with me that this place is boring. When I said “Fuck Arcadia Bay,” you nodded your pretty little head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. So if you _hate_ it here, why even give a shit? After you graduate, you never even have to think about this Ass End of Fucksville ever again.” Victoria suggested, slouching back in her seat. Her forearm dropped back to the table’s surface.

“So you never hate something even though you still care about it?”

Victoria’s first thought was of her parents. She kind of hated herself for that thought.

“No,” Victoria claimed. “When I hate anything, I try not to think about it.”

“Really?” Rachel said skeptically, as if she could see right through her. Victoria’s face must have been stained glass to her, with all the secret little betrayals on the other side. For neither the first nor the last time, Victoria wondered whether it was as ugly a picture as she imagined. “I believe that, if you really hate something- or someone, then you have to care.” She shrugged. “At least a little.”

“Just because you believe something doesn’t make it true,” Victoria said, but she couldn’t look at her. She looked at the ground. She looked at the windows. She looked at the whiteboard. Anything but Rachel Amber and her goddamn all-seeing eyes.

“Of course,” She conceded. “If believing made it true, then we’d have a tulpa on our hands.”

Rachel was like a tulpa, Victoria realized. Or at least wanted to be. She sought to be this Funhouse mirror for everyone to project their everything onto and see this distorted version of themselves that they _wanted_ to be. And they wanted it so bad that it’s almost real, in a way. For Mr. Keaton, she was the glamourous starlet that lived and breathed the theatre. For Hayden, she was a good time and a few laughs who didn’t balk at his more distasteful jokes. For Taylor, she was someone beautiful to giggle with over gossip and boys.

And, for Victoria, she was- Well, Victoria didn’t know. She just was.  

 

 

Victoria watched as, like the planets orbiting up in outer space, everyone surrounded Rachel day in and day out, soaking up her sun rays as she lit up each and every room.

Knowing Rachel’s modus operandi made it a lot more interesting than usual. Usually, it was just irritating in a way she couldn’t explain. No explanation really satisfied her. This being about jealousy didn’t sound right. That was too petty. She was willing to admit she was a little jealous of Rachel; that didn’t mean every thought of Rachel was tainted by that bias. But the reason being simple curiosity framed Victoria as this detached scientist studying her test subject. And Victoria was not and would never be objective about Rachel Amber.

No word really felt right.

Maybe having labels for it just made it more confusing. Maybe she had to just experience it.

She had plenty of time to mull over the sensation, when Rachel showed up to her dorm after school.

“What’s going on?” Victoria asked, suspicious.

“Can’t a gal visit her pal?” Rachel’s rested her forearm against the door frame and leaned in. Her hand dangled down, her long, elegant fingers ending in shiny blue nails.   

Victoria, in response, took a step back. She looked away, forced a smile. “Sure, where’s the pal?”

“Ouch,” Rachel said, but she was smiling. A more natural smile than Victoria’s. “You don’t think we’re friends?”

“We hang out.” There was a difference, as far as Victoria was concerned.

“We have private conversations. We go to the same parties. We sometimes even skip class together,” Rachel pointed out. “I don’t carry around the dictionary with me, but sounds like we _might_ meet the definition. Come on. Do you have a car? I was thinking we could go for a drive.”

Victoria considered the offer. She thought of the pile of unfinished homework at her desk. She had to go do laundry sometime that day too. But then, then again… “Sure, I could use a break.” She could finish it all later. This was another opportunity, even if she couldn’t pinpoint the goal. What was Rachel’s angle here? What was _Victoria’s_ angle?

They climbed into Victoria’s car, one of the latest models. Of what kind she had no idea. All that mattered was, 1. that it was new, and 2. that it looked expensive. She strapped herself in and looked over to check Rachel used the seatbelt. Satisfied that they weren’t going to violate any safety regulations, she put it in gear and drove off.

“I have a dare for you,” Rachel said.

Victoria didn’t look at her, keeping her eyes on the road.

She tried again. “Aren’t you curious what it is?”

Victoria was more curious about Rachel herself. “You’re going to tell me to drive over the speed limit, aren’t you?” Victoria guessed, hoping she hit the mark.

“You won’t, then?” Rachel asked, sounding disappointed. Vic’s not sure if the disappointment was about the possibility of her not playing her game or if it was over her guessing the game so easily. Her knowledge of that brain’s inner workings only went so far.

“I’m not hanging out with you to get some new lease on life,” Victoria would have rolled her eyes if her attention wasn’t so firmly on the road ahead. “This isn’t a freaking romcom.”

“I know. You're not hanging out with me because you like me. You’re hanging out with me because you want to _be_ me,” Rachel said and Rachel believed it. Victoria herself didn’t know what she believed. Self-reflection was never her strong suit.

Victoria ultimately let the chance to reply slip past as she turned a corner with a slow, smooth pace. They settled into the silence pleasantly, and, by the time the car passed the familiar rundown shops, she almost forgot they had been talking at all.

“As charmed as I am with the strong and silent type,” Rachel began, putting on airs, “I must request to indulge in the _pleasure_ of your conversation, Ms. Chase.”

That surprised her enough that she did deign to peer over at the passenger seat. “You… enjoy this? God, Rachel, I'll never understand you.”

“You disagree with me a lot,” Rachel explained, with a shrug of her narrow shoulders. “It’s intriguing.”

That made her smile despite herself. “Maybe I wouldn’t disagree with you so much if you didn’t make it so easy. You’re Little Miss Perfect to them.”

“You resent me for it.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. Rachel was too good at reading people for her to doubt herself now.

“Who wouldn’t? You go around with your Mary Sunshine routine and expect-”

Rachel immediately argued back, talking over her. “I don’t expect anything-”

“You expect their expectations and you conform to fit them like you’re sheep. I don’t want to be sheep.”

“Maybe I feel that way, too. Maybe it’s exhausting to live like this.” Victoria decided to file away that information for later, for when it could be useful. She needed leverage on her.

“It’s just baffling. Your grades are even better than mine, but you still have the time and patience to be everyone’s dream girl.” She shook her head, trying to force her eyes back on the road, and yet. And yet. Her eyes kept being lured back.

Rachel’s lips were parted, ever so slightly.

“Am I _your_ dream girl?”

Victoria didn’t answer, suddenly unable to speak. She wouldn’t even know what to say to that if she could. So she just rolled her eyes and drove on.

This was Rachel Amber and Victoria Chase’s friendship, if one could even call it that.

Still, fuck Rachel Amber.


End file.
